Mirrored Fates
by Imekari
Summary: "Two separate lives yet more connected than they would come to realize..." As the people of Thedas are divided between the templars and mages, there is one nation who appears to avail itself of the ongoing struggle and slowly regain its former glory. Yet a devious wind sweeps across the troubled lands, bearing whispers of another shade looming on the horizon.
1. Prologue

**9:50 Dragon Age** – 7 years prior to the events

Silence fell the day the haven of the dead was tainted with life and thus becoming void of light and hope, while the abandoned magister-lords kneeled in shame before their impending destiny.

Worthy and noble was their goal, but with pride as the only fuel for their ambitions, any chances of success was forfeit from the very beginning. And even though the signs were clear, who else could've climbed so high and then fall further than ever before with no hope of gaining back that which was lost, if not them? Betrayal was the word on everyone's lips and as the master forgot about his most trusted disciples so did they, humbly turning towards the priests of pride and yielding to the foreign deity. Still, they did not come to know neither vindication nor serenity since their faith belonged to the god that lied dead in the bloodied fields.

Many ages fell upon time since then, until all that remained was an empty tune, chased away by the wind, crushed beneath the gentle rain or dimmed in the sun's shining gaze… for the words had faded out of memories long ago as their shadow chose to linger on, longing for a relief which was not allowed.

And thus it stayed till one night when all which had become so truthful and certain now bore the ghostly veil of change. Stars would soon end their journey, leaving a land of sorrow and despair in the shadow of another day. Yet silence was not to find its way to the forsaken god and offer soothing. Hundreds of torches burnt across the barren fields, just as though it all were a humble attempt of mirroring the night's sky. A soft chanting floated along while they marched across the foreign land. Were it to ignore the great numbers and, most importantly, the weapons carried by each man, one could simply assume that the entire performance was nothing more than a strange ritual, less terrible than in reality. With no divine signs to mark either the Maker's approval or disapproval, the armies continued their way undeterred through the last hours of the night, unknowing that their opponents watched their each and every move from the distance. The trespassing was not looked kindly upon and neither was it to be suffered for long.

But upon this stage where both attackers and defenders played the major parts, there stood another character with less clear intents and most often deemed as an observer – understatement which was entirely desired.

A hooded figure moved slowly up until the edge of the scarp overlooking the Tevinter encampment and as she gazed at the unfolding scenery, her lips contorted into a malign smile. Shortly after, a man paced with caution outside the improvised fortifications and headed up the steady slope. He motioned for his guards to remain behind as he approached the mysterious emissary but keeping at the same time some distance. His dark garments were adorned with golden threads, which along with the various signet rings and the ruby necklace revealed his noble rank. The man was in the early autumn of his life yet few marks of weariness had been etched on his skin and the thin lines on his forehead told little of his journey. Despite his features were generally kind on the eye, one could not easily overlook the man's hauteur. Perhaps it was the way he looked at others, a freezing cold stare, amplified by the pale blue colour of his eyes, or more probable it was his thin lips which seemed twisted in a disdainful expression almost at all times. No traces of kindness could be found throughout his appearance and his arrogance was only outmatched by his cunning. Throughout Tevinter, he was considered a vivid embodiment of the old magisters and not without good reason since both power and influence have never avoided him. If proven successful, the battle against the templars' armies would gain him most of the Senate's support.

"And this is how it all begins once more… a real pity that for many it shall be an untimely end," said the woman, all of a sudden.

"Ha, pity! Funny you would use such a word. Never have I heard that the great Flemeth would be renowned for showing compassion just for the sake of it."

She grinned in amusement and continued to gaze upon the seemingly serene valley.

"You should be more careful in choosing your words. Wouldn't want your acolytes be shaken before the battle starts, now would we?"

"They would be less shaken knowing they have you on their side."

"Overconfidence is a slippery path to tread on or would you wish to fall in your own trap?"

Even though the magister didn't argue against Flemeth's last words, she detected the merest sign of disapproval in his prolonged muteness and turned towards him. The corners of her eyes revealed a faint hint of anger.

"Much like you've pointed out earlier, I have very little compassion for any of the factions which will brawl here today."

"Ah, I understand; you simply desire to enjoy the bloodbath from the distance…"

"Not at all. And why would I since the outcome is so plain to see?"

_I do hope your sight is not influenced by the weariness of your age, _he thought while smiling in acknowledgement. The famous Witch of the Wilds did not seem as daunting as the legends would portray her to be – nothing more and nothing less than an old woman, all dressed up in rags like a common beggar; completely dull appearance aside for her emerald-green eyes. The magister shifted his gaze away from Flemeth, to avoid her piercing looks, and continued to comment upon the mages' combat prowess compared to the templars' army whose sole advantage consisted in their numbers.

"Everything is ready, Magister Kane," said one of his acolytes.

"Good. These plains have been soaked in Dumat's blood, the earth covered His ashes… and silence was all that remained – up until now. Today, that silence will be broken as our Lord Dumat shall rise again, a herald of that which has been lost for too long."

"It looks like you have outdone yourself this time but mere shadows will not win you this battle so easily."

"These impudent peasants seem to be under the impression that they will fight against their scared circle mages and not masters of the arcane arts. I shall change that view to one they will never forget ever again."

"Of that I am sure…" she said. "It appears that the scale weighs heavily on your side and despite that your victory will not come without great losses, you will rise higher than ever before. However, the abyss which forms behind you will become alluring, almost inviting I would say. When the time is right, hesitate not and embrace the fall since it shall lead you to what you desire most."

"They will return…" he whispered.

"You will die, magister Kane. Yet before it all ends you will gaze upon one of the Great Seven, telling the true one from the impostor, and as you will come to know he will know as well."

"He will know… but you speak as if… forgive me to ask such question but how would one of the Old Gods forget about his identity?"

"He became human, so to speak. 'Tis all you need to know."

"Have you learned anything about him? Is he someone renowned?"

"Far from it. No, if it were to guess, I would say he must be exactly the opposite. Rather hiding than staying in plain view."

"But surely you must be able to see more-"

"And what then, hm? I could swear that you humans are all the same! All the knowledge in the world can lie at your feet and you would still ask for directions. Even if I did find out who he was, it wouldn't change a thing. It will only be the human to take the actions. No, we need to grant him enough time in order to… lose touch with his humanity."

"I shudder to think the implications of that… What about the impostor you mentioned?"

"Two separate lives yet more connected than they would come to realise. One of them is the source of my visions' uncertainty as he will be granted a choice. It is when everything can be won and lost at the same time. I cannot emphasize enough how imperative is for both of them to survive until that point. Yet, somehow, they will. What follows next will become clearer…"

The idea of dying did not appal the magister and certainly not if it was to help achieving his goals.

"I have tarried long enough," Flemeth said. "Since our paths will never cross again, I offer you this last word of advice: as one kingdom falls, another will take its place; it remains only to be seen whom the tides will betray this time…"

She whispered the last words mostly as an echo of her own thoughts. Magister Kane bowed his head in bemused silence, without helping to feel slightly disturbed by the idea of treachery. However, putting forward another question seemed an ill-conceived idea so he chose to refrain himself from making any remarks. As he raised his glance, Flemeth had already climbed down the steady slope, becoming nothing more than a shadow before disappearing entirely in the morning haze. The first rays of light imbued the valley, revealing the approaching armies.

"We are outnumbered…" said one of the acolytes.

The magister frowned upon hearing the mere confirmation of the daunting sight.

"Tell me something, acolyte, if numbers are what frighten you most than I cannot fathom the horror that a colony of ants must bestow upon you," he answered with disdain.

Accompanied by the others' sniggering jests, the man muttered something asking for forgiveness and scowled at his fellow comrades. Without taking part at the sudden verve, magister Kane silenced the acolytes' laughter with a cold glare.

"I will say this only once so hear me well: for those of you who might contemplate the idea of deserting I must sadly inform them that any successful attempt of such kind will only end up in death. And by that I mean the exact ceremonial befitting any traitor. Do I make myself clear?"

He grinned seeing the acolytes comply.

"Very well. Send word to Sayyid to ready himself and his men. As for the little _surprise_ we have prepared for our humble guests… await my signal."

Down in the camp, the soldiers were preparing to move out. The tension grew with every minute and restlessness soon took over the Tevinter troops which remained concealed in the lingering shadow of the nearby hills.

"This is wrong, even if we are to succeed," said one of the mages in the vanguard in reply to his ally, without having noticed the group of magisters passing by.

"What is your name, young mage?" asked magister Kane, turning towards him.

Startled at first by the unexpected question, the man regained his composure and answered with confidence:

"Rion, milord."

"So, Rion," he said grinning, "you would believe that defending our borders is wrong-"

"No! That was not…" the mage shouted but grew livid upon realizing his offence. "I… am deeply sorry…"

"You should."

"Magister Kane, if you will indulge me," said the captain, leading the mage unit. "I apologise for any inconveniences the young lad might have created. He's a good mage, yet sometimes a bit thick." The captained then scowled at Rion, thus trying to please the magister.

"Well, your regiment's misdemeanour tells a lot about their captain, wouldn't you agree?" said the magister and then joined the other mageocrats as well as the commander of the warrior units.

"Any news about our friendly guests, commander? Are they planning to attack us soon?" asked magister Kane.

"They must be waiting for the sun to fully rise," said the commander.

"And here I thought caution wasn't necessary when you have the Maker on your side."

"Scouts have reported that besides templars and seekers it appears that there are also some nobles who are here to join the fight, most notably prince Sebastian Vael from Starkhaven."

"Are you certain we can do without the reinforcements?" asked another magister.

"Have no worry, Cavillor, we have just about enough troops."

"I've also received word from our troops stationed further south. They are ready to attack the templar regiments from the rear as soon as they march into the valley."

"And thus caught in the trap, surrounded from all sides," completed magister Kane. "I say we should give them a little more time to decide which way to run."

"Ah, their pride won't leave room for thoughts such as retreating. There's no doubt about that," said magister Septimus.

Magister Kane nodded in approval and gazed at the approaching armies.

"And so the last standing bastions of the Andrastian Order have gathered for a new Exalted March," he said with disdain. "Oh, but this is just poetic! Let us see who will participate at this revival of the past. Orlais – not such a surprise yet not the power that it used to be. People's faith in the Maker is growing weary and even some of their templars prefer to aid the mages instead of fulfilling their _sacred _duty. The Nevarran – it is a wonder how they agreed to be allies after centuries of blood. Ah, and of course, the peasants from the Free Marches, with Starkhaven marching in front. Without the Champion of Kirkwall, who managed to outmanoeuvre an army of Qunari led by the Arishok himself, they really do not stand a chance I'm afraid. No worthy heroes wrapped up in titles dare to show up at this late hour when the clock will strike the end for the Divine's rule over Thedas."

Horns moaned in the distance as the noble defenders of the Chantry charged onwards clashing arms with the Tevinter soldiers. Suddenly, a thundering roar echoed throughout the entire vale, bringing the fight to a standstill. Slightly visible at first, a ghostly shape of a dragon appeared on the sky and after flying in circles above the battlefield, it launched its attack against the templars.

"Today, the Silent Plains shall drink blood once more," said magister Kane, as the slaughter resumed its course.


	2. Dead of Night

**Dead of Night**

9:57 Dragon Age

Minrathous, capital of the Tevinter Imperium – it rose as the centre of the old world once before, and despite that much was lost during the ages, nothing could ever tear it away from the magisters' grasp… because dreadful were the mage-lords in their greed and even more so when their dominion was in peril.

Shrines, built in the honour of the gods, adorned the city many ages ago, with the Temple of Dumat as the crown jewel – now reduced to hollow remnants, tangled in the dust. Its twin structure, however, had a different fate or so it was claimed. Shrouded in the mists of the High Reaches, there rests an abandoned chapel with walls black as the starless sky. The Lorem Garrison was the name they had bestowed upon the towering structure and it was deemed sacred above all else. Only disciples and magisters of the highest rank were permitted to walk through the gates, any trespasser being killed in an instant. Yet the dawning of the First Blight augured the final days of the Order and its followers were executed without mercy.

Few dare to venture near the decrepit ruins, fearful of the unnatural stillness that hovers over the place. It is said that the garrison has developed a will of his own and would attempt to ensnare any poor soul, unfortunate enough to go astray. Others may aver that wraiths cross the weakened Veil each night, seeking solace from the Fade's empty wastes and haunting the inner sanctums down beneath. In truth, the nature of the chapel dwellers was far more terrible than that of mere forlorn spirits which sought life among the dead.

Radiant and sinister alike, the moon loomed out of the clouds, revealing the desolated sepulcher for a few split seconds, while the wind carried the far-away lament of the waves, pounding against the steep shores. Startled by this ominous scenery, the trees shivered their bare branches, before falling again into slumber. Just then, a shadow crept under the old arcades, pursuing undauntedly its path towards the main temple. The doors opened with a stretched creek and shut back again, echoing throughout the huge chambers. In utter silence, the pale light chased the unknown trespasser, crawling through the wide cracks in the walls. As if inspirited by the dim glow or, perhaps, in its acknowledgement, the paintings engraved on the walls gained an eerie appearance, becoming a living memory in sheer motion. This whole spectacle was unfolding in the oversight of a huge statue, depicting the patron god Dumat in its dragon shape.

After glancing throughout the chamber, the intruder swaggered towards the altar, ignoring the persistent gaze of the ghastly effigy. The white marble of the pedestal still retained the blood stains from the victims whose lives were violently ended on the cold stone, for the glory of the gods. Various symbols adorned the sideways of the altar, but the man's gaze fell on the one in the shape of a sun. He bended down and pushed the symbol then withdrew a few steps back. The slab near the pedestal moved slowly aside, revealing a hidden staircase. Without hesitating, the man ventured down the stairs, while the slab closed back above him. As he advanced through the pitch-dark hallway, a harsh and broken echo, carried by a sudden draft bore the following words: "The sound of your beating heart is not being suffered."

The man stopped, feeling a cold blade pressing upon his neck.

"Forgive me, as my... weakness," he uttered, giving out a sigh before the last word, "...is of my own doing."

"Your atonement is accepted for now, acolyte," the voice answered.

A sudden flash of light from a burning torch made the man shield his eyes and stagger a few steps back.

"Dammit!" he shouted. "I've already given you the password."

The guardian grinned, revealing its ugly teeth. His helmet covered most of his face, including the eyes, and he was all dressed up in rags and scraps of metal.

Getting used to the light, the man looked in abhorrence at the hideous figure in front of him.

"Ah, Damon! I should have recognised you from the start," said the guardian, lowering his blade. "Alas, after all this time you still haven't managed to pass by me, inconspicuously. Perhaps next time I won't be so kind."

Damon crossed his arms and returned a sardonic smile. He was average in height, rather skinny than muscular and had an oval face - overall pleasant in features yet nothing impressive. His raven-black hair hanged loose above his shoulders, contrasting with the pallor of the skin.

"I cannot help sensing another presence with you, tonight. Has the young acolyte dabbled too much in the forbidden magic?" spluttered the guard, bursting out into laughter which sounded more like a shriek.

"Your senses must be wrong, demon," the man replied in his defence.

Gloating over the enmity so generously reflected by Damon's hazel eyes, the foul creature answered with a jeer as it disappeared down the dark corridors.

A few candles burned brightly in the main hall, relieving the gloom which reigned at that late hour. Displeased to see that the chamber was not empty, Damon wavered a few moments before entering. The Rivaini swordsman, Sayyid, stood at the other end of the hallway and smiled upon noticing the acolyte who attempted to sneak past him.

"Not so fast, Damon. I need to have a word with you," said the man.

Damon turned reluctantly and answered with cold courtesy:

"Ah, Sayyid! Always a pleasure to talk to you. Are you still training the young apprentices in becoming future swordsmen? Well, you know my opinion that magic is a more powerful asset but no one can deny your utility in a potential battle."

"Magister Kane has requested your immediate presence," the man replied, ignoring Damon's words. Although deep and calm, his tone held a befitting commanding touch, while the intricate tattoos which adorned his face amplified the warrior's intimidating appearance.

"Tell the magister that I will honour him with my presence tomorrow. I've barely just arrived and-"

"I'm afraid that won't be possible. You see, one who chooses to defy Magister Kane in such manner would only end up being thrown into the Pit of Sorrows."

Damon's face grew livid for a second, much to Sayyid's delight.

"Yes, you know what resides down there, don't you? The very souls of the ones who were sentenced to death without bearing any guilt. All five hundred disciples of Dumat were thrown there, after they were killed."

"Your stories do not frighten me like they once did, old friend," said Damon, after regaining his composure.

"Ah, but I haven't finished. They say, however, that the disciples couldn't die... that they remained trapped, in the dark, consuming the living essence of those unfortunate enough to tread upon their domain."

"As if twisted spirits were the only thing that could kill you in those lower caverns. The ones who are thrown there most probably die of starvation… not a very pleasant death either. At any rate, I already know the story, Sayyid. You told it to me on the first day I've arrived here, remember?"

"And you were all filled with shivers just as you are now. Just that back then you didn't use to hide your fear behind smartass comments," Sayyid said.

"I also happen to know that only traitors are sent to the pit. Tell me, am I being accused of anything?"

"Have you done anything that may be considered as lack of loyalty?" Sayyid asked with a stern expression on his face.

"No... of course not. My only will is to serve the gods and herald their returning."

"Then you have nothing to worry about," he answered, grinning. "Come, we do not want magister Kane to be growing impatient."

Damon followed Sayyid through the tangle of narrow passages, holding back any mutinous impulses. The radiant bluish light coming from the torches barely disturbed the unnatural darkness that filled the tunnel. Damon recalled the first time he entered the Order's headquarters. Upon asking Sayyid about the strange beacons, the warrior grinned and explained their utility: "Ah, yes. You're one of the few novices to ask about their peculiarity. They serve as a means to induce confidence or shall I say overconfidence to any unwanted trespasser. As you've probably noticed, they don't offer much light to illuminate this whole passage. However, they seem rather pleasant to gaze upon, in this complete obscurity. Fills you with hope, doesn't it? Not to mention that the dazzling flames keep you distracted from noticing anything else like the fact that this passage is constantly being guarded. There are wards, similar to the one you've met at the entrance, even though you do not see them. Well, I should also probably tell you that this darkness is actually a poisonous cloud, meant to mess with your head. Need not worry; it is only lethal if breathed in large quantities. In time, you'll learn to fight back its effects."

As the heavy door opened in front of them, Damon relapsed into a state of disquiet. The chamber was in contrast with the general dreary appearance of the underground temple. Huge and imposing, it maintained a solemn atmosphere, echoing from the days of the old and almost bringing back to life a long forsaken world. Stairs, carved directly into stone, climbed up in spirals, leading to higher levels and presumably to the outer temple.

The magister stood aside, skimming through an old tome and seemingly oblivious, while another mage-acolyte strutted forward to greet the newcomers.

"It is late, Damon, very late indeed. Some may wonder, and rightfully so, whether your loyalty is still pledged to our cause."

His pale blues eyes glinted with malice.

"Do not take my absence for treachery, Silas. I can assure you that if my intentions had been indeed as dishonest as you portrayed them to be, I would not have returned here-"

"You would have been dead," said magister Kane, putting the book aside and fixing Damon with a cold stare. "I hope you understand that."

A sudden chill filled the air as he uttered the words.

"Now then, are there any explanations for this most unfortunate delay?"

"There have been several complications. Five of the seekers are dead but one managed to escape."

"So, in other words, you let one of the seeker spies go. Not very surprising up until now," said Silas.

"That was not the case," Damon retorted. "We had to bring the chase to a halt after Vyrantium because of the ongoing battles with the Qunari in the northern regions. As you can see, the chances that she would be reporting back anytime soon are very few if any at all." He stressed on the last words, giving Silas a defiant glare. There was a growing tense atmosphere, mainly due to the magister's calm appearance.

"Mere assumptions do not back up for your failure," he said. "However, I am more interested to hear about your second task. You did manage to recover the seekers' documents… or am I now the one to make a false assumption?"

There was little point in stalling the inevitable any longer. Silas would of course relish the predicament yet the magister was not so predictable.

"I do not have them," Damon heard himself say, staggered to realize how simple it was to admit his failure and continued on the same confident tone. "One of those mindless mage-hunters burned all the papers."

Infuriated by the news, magister Kane stepped forward towards Damon whose demeanor was even more disturbing as he seemed on the verge of bursting into a gale of laughter.

"She threw everything into the fire, including the scrolls concerning the old repository."

"Would she be the same one who escaped? Oh, you've signed your death sentence this time," said Silas, anxious to see the magister's reaction.

"Quite the irony-"

"I believe we've had just about enough of your jesting, thank you."

Without any notice, the magister drew out his sword and hit Damon with its iron hilt, knocking him down. The latter pressed his hand to his forehead, gasping in pain. He pondered upon the idea of fighting back but quickly abandoned such thoughts as the sword's blade rested ominously against his chest.

"You know, it really saddens me to lose one of my best mages but I believe that sparing your life is a luxury I cannot afford… If there is anything you wish to add, I would suggest thinking before opening your mouth."

Damon's head kept pounding as blood oozed from the wound.

"Even though I didn't get the chance to read the scrolls, they were planning to head out for Marothius… still, I managed to overhear their conversation at the inn, the night before-"

"Is this going anywhere? Because my patience is waning fast."

"_The key lies hidden under the gaze of one hundred guardians_ – that's what one of them said. It must be an excerpt from the writings."

"Master Kane, we shouldn't waste time with him; he would say anything to get away. And besides, what is the connection with Marothius? It is just a remote, mountain village," said Silas.

"The mountain range in the area is called _the Hundred Pillars_, oh wise one," Damon retorted. "It seems that they have associated the text to that location."

The magister reflected for a moment on the new information.

"You do realize that this isn't making up for the fact that the ancient manuscripts, which possibly contained references to the dragon gods, are nothing but a pile of ash. However, it would be a pity not to look more into this and find out what those chantry dogs were after… and you are just the right person," he said to Damon who turned a puzzled stare. "Bring back anything useful and I might forget about this embarrassing setback. Return empty-handed and… well, I'm sure you can figure that one all by yourself."

"Master Kane, I am afraid that I must protest! His last mission wasn't just a minor failure – it was a disaster. We cannot entrust him with something of such great importance-"

"Have I specifically requested any advice from you on this matter?" he asked, obviously irritated but not losing his temper.

"I was merely making an observation-"

"Answer the question, Silas."

"No…"

"Precisely. That is why I would highly recommend you to stop fiddling around and make yourself useful."

"As you wish," he said while taking a bow, then headed towards the door. His face was twisted into a dark scowl as he gazed towards Damon. "This is not over," Silas hissed and flounced out of the chamber.

"I think his tiny black heart just broke… really brings a tear to the eye."

"You have been appointed a task, Damon, and you would do well not to screw things up this time. Now, get out of my sight!"

He obeyed the magister's order, without making any other remarks. It was surprising to still be alive yet everything relied upon the accuracy of the seekers' judgement. The fragment could've held other meaning as well, if any at all. Damon thought about Silas's last threat, wondering if the mission's failure was indeed an ill-fated coincidence or something else.


	3. A Watery Grave

**A Watery Grave**

_With passion'd breath does the darkness creep; it is the whisper in the night, the lie upon your sleep… _

Mallorie strained to recall the following verses of the chant, as she took out a small vial and imbued her daggers with the colourless poison. The last rays of sunlight slipped gently through the leaves. Day would slowly succumb to the shadows which sought to redeem their sovereignty over the forest. She lay there, in wait, at the base of an old oak tree, carefully listening to every noise. The sounds of the ongoing battle echoed from afar, culminating with a thundering blast, after which everything sank into an utter silence. The woman seemed impervious and continued to slowly recite the hallowed lyrics, staring through her large, azure eyes over yonder. _Here lies the abyss, the well of all souls; from theses emerald waters doth life begin anew, _Mallorie murmured, gathering her long chestnut hair into a knot at the back of her head. There was little time remaining, yet the hours still crawled by like years. A silvery necklace adorned her pale neck. She twirled the medallion through her elongated fingers and gazed in anguish at the delicately engraved wheel of fire, bearing the shape of an eye in the middle. Then, she closed her fist around it and tore it off. _Better off lost and forgotten…_ she whispered, throwing the jeweled trinket on the ground and covering it with dirt.

A few cries in the distance shattered the stillness. She flinched at the sound of the nearing footsteps and closed her eyes for a few moments, listening to every pace they took. Running was no longer an option. There must've been at least two Qunary warriors and the odds of a surprise attack were getting slimmer with each second. Mallorie waited a little more, then sprang from her meager hideout and slashed at the adversary's throat. Having no time to parry the killing blow, the kosslith soldier fell dead on the ground. With the same swiftness, she leapt forward and flung one of her daggers at the other enemy, piercing his shoulder. The warrior staggered a few steps back, grasping the dagger and throwing it away but even though the wound was fairly minor he soon yielded to the paralytic effect of the poison. Mallorie quickly turned around, looking out for the rest of the Qunari patrol. It all seemed safe once again, yet she wasn't ready to take in the beguiling appearance. A sudden feeling of dismay began to creep into her mind as devious as the growing dusk.

And there it was – just a few metres away, another Qunari stood ominously, holding a bow and ready to fire an arrow. Upon seeing the kossith executioner, her eyes grew wide for a moment. Evading the arrow would have been impossible and perhaps due to the mere realization of the fact, she felt her muscles grow numb, unable to move.

Just then, a sudden burst of flames engulfed the Qunari soldier and his arrow flew astray, avoiding Mallorie who stared in complete bewilderment. A man walked right pass the unfortunate kosslith warrior, bearing a drawn staff. He riveted his eyes around, making sure there were no other threats, and then fixed Mallorie with a distrustful gaze.

"Which unit are you from?" he asked sternly.

The man was clearly a Tevinter mage, possibly of a higher rank or even a magister from his demeanor. Mallorie frowned but decided to play along nevertheless.

"None, for I am no soldier. I'm from one of the farms… near Neromenian. We got separated and-"

"A civilian? There were orders for clearing out these lands weeks ago," he said, shifting his gaze from the two corpses back to the woman. "You seem to be handling it pretty well for someone whose sole job is harvesting vegetables. On the other hand, deserting is a very grave charge, punished by death."

"Yes, I am aware of that," she answered hastily. "However, in order to desert one has to be in the army in the first place."

"Alright… farm girl. We'll have it your way, for now," said the mage, turning as if to go. "If you do intend on dallying here, I should probably inform you that this place is going to be overrun by morning."

"You run away instead of facing them? Such an open display of courage is beneath a magister, is it not?"

Mallorie quickly realized her words would bring great offence, especially because of the role she had assumed.

"It is simply… inconceivable that you should give up so soon," she added, lowering her gaze in order to veil her resentment.

A fleeting smile crept across his mouth. In other circumstances, he would have been appalled by the woman's insolence and certainly not amused. However, her failed attempt to make amends was even more charming.

"I have resigned myself for the day. Come," he said, walking away and motioning for Mallorie to follow. "Unless you would prefer to stay?"

Despite the man seemed more benevolent than the kosslith warriors, she couldn't help wishing for things to have been otherwise. Mallorie despised the fact she was left with no alternative but to trust a mage and a Tevinter.

They advanced together through the thick and dark forest for what seemed like hours, without any of them saying a word. The mage kept glancing nervously over his shoulder, listening carefully to every noise, apart from the snapping of small branches and the rustling of the leaves.

A small clearing became visible, not too far ahead. It was a Tevinter encampment, numbering barely over twenty souls, mostly mages and a few warriors as well.

"Captain Rion!" shouted one of the men, in greeting. However, his enthusiastic demeanour was soon slipping away as he asked with a tremble in his voice whether there were any other survivors. The answer, although obvious, chilled the man to the bone.

"None, except this one deserter," Rion said, motioning towards Mallorie.

"I see… things are dire, captain. We've already had several deserting attempts while you were gone. I do realize that our numbers are few but discipline is also imperative."

"A warning will be enough. Dead soldiers are of very little use to me."

"Very well, captain."

"Also, be ready to move camp before dawn. We'll be heading out for the Alabaster Tower. That is where we shall make our final stand."

"Shouldn't we ask for reinforcements? Surely Minrathous will not be blind to our fates!" said the man in a burst of confidence.

"Oh, but they are not blind," Rion said with a sigh, taking out a folded letter. "This is a reply from Minrathous. Do you wish me to read its content?" He didn't wait for an answer and started reading. "_We regret that we are unable to send any reinforcements to Vyrantium at this time. As you are undoubtedly aware, the campaigns in Nevarra have the outmost concern. It is our most earnest hope that you will fight valiantly and die for the Imperium,_ signed magister Vesper. Are the orders clear enough or do you still require further explanations on this matter?"

"No, captain."

"Then you are dismissed."

The man took his leave, aghast by the terrible news and furious on the captain for not ordering them to retreat instead of insisting on a doomed mission. Yet choosing to defy the High Council would have had the same unfortunate consequences and he resolved by cursing all the magisters in his mind.

* * *

Rion stared silently at the smouldering fire, deep absorbed in his thoughts. The alleged triumph against the templars, at the Silent Plains, brought him the unexpected promotion to the rank of a captain. He never completely understood what glory was there in being among the very few surviving mages of his unit. Only fear and terror imbued the memories of that battle. Not many opponents had found their deaths at his hand and there had been no acts of heroism from his part; only the raw instinct of remaining alive, carefully evading the eye of the storm. He was nothing like his former captain to whom he had hold a deep respect and who never wavered before taking a decision. Rion remembered vividly how one of the templars slit the man's throat during the battle. The terrible scene stunned him with horror and despair as the captain's body jerked in violent spasms on the bloodied soiled. It wasn't the first time he had witnessed death. Magisters would often duel in the open street, under the crowds' gaze while elves, found dead in the slums of Minrathous, were something of a daily basis. But those people were complete strangers, for whom he cared little when they were alive and even less when they were dead. A mentor and a friend, however, was something of a different matter. It was the day he had bitterly found out that skill could never guarantee one's chances of surviving and that fate and circumstances played a pivotal role in almost everything.

Nothing could overthrow the sullen atmosphere which ruled over the camp. Most soldiers were awaiting the break of day while the officers kept a close watch for any deserting attempts.

"Hey, Dom! I can't even here my own thoughts because of your whining and muttering. Just shut your mouth and go to sleep," said one of the mages to his friend.

"I'm going to have enough rest when I'm gone! Just let me enjoy my last hours the way I think it is more befitting," he moaned, folding his arms upon his chest.

"Then at least you can be a more pleasant company," he said, giving Dom a nudge with his elbow.

"We are barely over twenty men… against a whole army!? And here you're telling me to just take it easy!"

"Stop shouting, will you? They're going to have you flogged for such an attitude. Besides, it is an honour to die defending the Imperium."

"Speak for yourself, Tarquin. I do not fancy death, I fancy life! And because of that, as soon as I get a chance, I'm clearing out of here!" Dom snarled.

"I wouldn't take any hasty decisions if I were you. Take a good look."

Tarquin pointed towards the party of mages, dragging Mallorie behind them. She posed no opposition whatsoever and walked compliantly as if ushered by the escort.

"What a shame! She is quite a looker," said Tarquin.

"No, she isn't! I'm telling you, there's something very odd about her. Even the captain appears graver than she is; and he's the captain! He must show confidence for all of us. Now they're probably going to hang her and still she doesn't seem troubled at all. Oh, I would sooner cuddle a dead cat than go near her!"

"A dead – are you even serious? I'm not talking with you anymore," Tarquin said, rolling over with his back towards Dom.

The party of mages as well as Mallorie headed straight towards the captain.

"We've caught this sly, little rat while trying to sneak away. The penalty for deserting is death and hanging her would also set a good example for the others," said the officer mage.

"Our numbers are already few as they are. I do not believe we can afford executing anyone at the moment. That would be all," Rion answered, absently.

The mage turned around and left, disappointed of the captain's decision and muttering slowly to himself. Mallorie sat down by the fire, undaunted by the accusations and glaring defiantly at Rion.

"Ah, colour me surprised… the farm girl who defeated two Qunari by herself. Only that she neither fights nor looks like a peasant for the matter," he said, taking off his hood.

Rion's appearance seemed less sullen than before and his voice bore no traces of bitterness. A few curling locks of tawny hair framed a rather pale and gaunt face. His countenance held no predominant expression as if it was just a mirror-like image – one which memories would fail to retain and yet inducing a incessant yearning of recalling it to mind.

"These are difficult times, no? One's got to know her way around a fight," she said in all innocence.

"True. Although, you must've spent more time training than harvesting crops." His dark brown eyes took on a roguish expression. Mallorie smiled in return and gazed at the fire.

"What is your name?" asked Rion.

"Doesn't the captain have better things to do than exchanging pleasantries?" There was a vague hint of annoyance in her tone.

"Even amongst enemies, there is still room for manners."

"Oh? And what has led you to believe that we are enemies?"

"Maybe the fact that we are clearly not on the same side."

"Are your conclusions always so radical? Perhaps I am just someone who does not fancy suicidal campaigns," she answered back.

"And what if you received an order demanding just that?"

"It would depend on who gave the order."

"Yes, I guess it would… Well, if you do not obey the word of a magister than whom exactly do you serve?"

"So you are magister? Ha, it takes all the kinds," she laughed.

"It is rather annoying the way you talk without saying anything at all. I would think you are Qunari if I didn't see you with my own eyes putting down two of them."

"They are not as open to negotiations as I would've hoped. Not that it is much of a marvel given the sort of people they fight against."

"I am not sure whether your hostility comes from the fact that we are Tevinter or mages."

"It comes from being held as a prisoner."

"You must've surely noticed by now that sparing your life is not well seen by most of the soldiers, yet alone letting you go."

"I do not owe you my life, captain."

"Being so uncooperative is not going to win you any favours," Rion retorted as he was starting to lose his patience. The woman glanced at him for a moment and answered derisively:

"Why do you insist with this interrogation? Whatever information you hope to gain will be of little consequence since we are both running to our deaths. It is treason to abandon your posts is it not? I can even imagine how appalled the high-ranked magisters would be upon hearing that captain Rion and his troops are still intact and have retreated to Minrathous while the Qunari are free to do as they please. They will not think twice concerning your plea – _outnumbered by the enemy forces; you were better off dead than returning just to admit your failure, _they will say. Not even bringing back a seeker will save you. Tell me something, captain, how does it make you feel knowing that you lead your men right into the abyss?"

Rion kept his gaze downcast and didn't answer. Spurred by the captain's demeanor, Mallorie continued:

"Whether you charge or retreat, the outcome is still the same. You are their executioner; your hands are stained with their blood, captain."

"You are wrong."

She looked at him in bemused silence as he smiled slyly at her and walked away to consult with the officer mages.

* * *

Morning came, bearing leaden skies and a cold, damp atmosphere. The weather seemed to have sided against the Tevinters, bestowing upon them lashes of heavy rainfall which showed no signs of receding until noon, when they finally reached the high coasts.

Down below, waves pounded relentlessly against the steep, rocky shores with a dreary hum, a calling from within the churning waters of the Nocen Sea. A true masterpiece of the dwarven masons, the Alabaster Tower leaned onto the cliff face while its huge base was carved in the stone. The only way to access the structure was by a narrow ledge, leading up to the middle-level terrace. Most of the spiral staircases inside the tower were in poor shape and had even collapsed along with some of the floors. However the outer walls, which still retained a silvery hue, as well as the main terrace managed to endure over the ages.

After the last men traversed the ledge, a magical barrier was raised to block the entrance.

"It won't keep them out forever but at least may buy us some time," said Rion.

He went on examining the site. Apart from a dim pulse which resonated throughout the derelict structure at odd intervals, there was hardly anything else significant.

"Do you believe the Qunari will renounce their chase?" asked Mallorie.

"To be perfectly honest, I am counting on the opposite thing. This tower was not designed as a hideout. As you can see, it is hardly a fortress and time has made it even less so," Rion said, seemingly distracted.

"Up until now, I was concerned only about not getting killed by the kosslith warriors. It's more likely that this whole ruin will collapse before they even reach here."

"The structure is sturdier than it looks and will not fall apart… before our pursuers arrive, of course."

"You seem very assured of it. A little too assured if I might add," she said, disturbed but also intrigued by his last words.

"No doubt you know very little of the old Tevinter towers such as this one. Back in the old days, they served as beacons of power. Some would summon great firestorms, reducing any foe to ashes while other would heal and rejuvenate the wounded."

"So, I take it that this tower toasts the enemies? Well they clearly got its name wrong."

A burst of laughter escaped Rion.

"In truth, I am not sure about what it does. Not that it would matter much," he said sternly.

"What do you mean?" she asked, her voice mildly quivering.

"The tower will not hold together once the beacon is activated."

Mallorie looked down the precipice – the raging torrents of water and the force of the waves would crush anyone to bits. She backed away from the edge, trembling with both fear and anger while Rion gazed in amusement at the whole scene.

"I am not dying in here. Lift off the barrier!"

"Forgive me, but I cannot do that. Besides, there is no escape through there and you know it."

"You… are insane," Mallorie hissed.

"Seeing you make such a drama out of the whole situation is irritating to say the least. Nobody has tied up your arms or your legs. You can still try to climb your way up to the top. I've even given the same order to my men. It doesn't take more than three people to activate the beacon and whoever wishes to leave has nothing but my most sincere blessings."

"And you would grant me such clemency, captain? That seems so unlikely for your kind."

"Strangely, I find myself thinking quite the same. Any decent magister would have had your head on a pike by now."

"A decent magister would have come up with a better plan. The Qunari will not be so easily deceived but it will certainly be worth watching how your little trap fails, and all from a very safe distance."

"Then perhaps I should bid you farewell?"

"There is one thing which baffles me, though. Why not assign your men to activate the beacon? Remaining here will kill you."

"Is that by any chance a vague trace of compassion, which I hear?"

"It is just… pity."

"In that case, you can keep your pity," he said bitterly and walked away.

The sullen cliff loomed dauntingly before her and she could scarcely see its peak. Left with no other choice she began ascending the sheer rock face, carefully gripping onto the stony ledges. As she climbed almost half the way up, Mallorie glanced down at the gaping precipice which had formed behind her. The terrace had been overrun by the Qunari earlier than she expected and a sudden feeling of unease grew as she looked for Rion and the other mages. Fearful of what the beacon may trigger, Mallorie resumed her ascension with haste, less careful than before. The rock ledge gave in to her weight and almost dragged Mallorie into the abyss. She remained suspended for a few minutes, her arms at full stretch, and desperately searched for another ledge on which to place her feet. After moving slightly to the left, she found a narrow crack and firmly clutched onto the rough cliff-face. The edge of the summit was not too far above…

* * *

"So small in number and yet you dare challenge the great Antaam," said the commander of the Qunari, gazing with disdain at the handful of mages.

"We are few indeed; still the strength of our soldiers does not reside in number but in skill. Surely the Qunari must have learned this by now," answered Rion.

"Basra Vashedan - that is the name that the people of Tevinter have earned themselves. Your magisters are nothing but cowards, hiding inside the spires of Minrathous."

"I am not going to deny that for it is true."

"That is surprising to hear and even somewhat amusing up to a certain a point, yet utterly futile on the overall. Does the Saarebas intend to lull us to sleep with his courtesy and then make for his escape? After all, running seems to be the magisters' greatest virtue."

"Rest assured, my path ends here."

"Yes, I'm afraid it does," answered the kosslith commander, grinning. Dozens of arrows were aimed at Rion, awaiting him to give his signal.

"I hope you know what you're doing, captain," whispered one of the mages.

"Have no fear," Rion answered, clasping his hand tightly around his staff. He saw the Qunari raising up his hand, motioning for his men to open fire. With the kosslith warriors' battle cries thundering in his ears, the mage swiftly whirled the staff and then hit the stone floor with all his strength. One ripple of force, followed by three others, swept across the terrace, making everyone to stagger on their feet. Subsequently, the building began to shake with an even more heightening rumble as deep fissures, glowering with a pale green luminescence, crawled upon the floor and walls, slowly engulfing the entire tower. A screeching noise blasted throughout the ravine, while a part of the terrace collapsed, pulling two of the mages into the abyss. Beams of green light stretched towards the sky, immersing the leaden clouds with a ghastly hue. Another portion of the wall began to tremble and fell apart, almost crushing Rion beneath its weight. He made an attempt to stand up and run further away from the edge but was soon reduced to crawling. The tower appeared to come alive through the pulsating luminescence whose radiance was almost blinding. The trepidation seemed to be receding for a moment and then, as sudden as they occurred, the bursts of light melted away and the base of the tower yielded to the waves.

Rion rose again from the ground and sprinted away from his place, avoiding getting hit by the falling rubble. The sides of the cliff were generally steep with protruding rocks, sharp as a blade. Through all the chaos, he managed to spot a narrow ledge and made his way towards it. Rion could feel the strip of the remaining terrace lowering down and leaped forward, barely grabbing onto the ledge. The sea below was seething as its waters were swelling the tower.

"You said you would not run, Saarebas! I will hold you onto that vow!"

Appalled, Rion turned his head to the source of the thundering voice only to catch a glimpse of the Qunari commander and before he could react, an arrow pierced his arm. The wound was not severe and neither the pain yet Rion felt losing control over his muscles. He tried desperately to hang onto the ledge but it was no longer a matter of will. The choice had already been made for him and soon he was letting go and fell into the churning abyss.

The raging waters had closed maliciously over their victims, gone now into the murky depths and beyond any chance of recovery.


	4. Fading Loyalty

**Fading Loyalty**

"Still here, eh? You'd better have the coin to pay up," said the innkeeper, scowling through his tiny rodent eyes while gathering the ale tankards.

The place was mostly deserted during that hour, with the exception of a few mercenaries staying at a table in the back. Damon didn't respond and kept resting his head on the bar counter. A few rays of light melted through the stained windows, relieving the gloom of the sordid tavern.

"Every bloody time..." the innkeeper grumbled and poked him in the arm. "Hey, I'm talking to you! If you don't cough up the fifty silver pieces you owe me, my men will beat the lights out of you!"

After the last threat, Damon raised his head lazily and gazed at the man, his eyes slightly open. The mild effects of the hangover persisted still, his head thudding with pain.

"Good morning to you too, Laris," he groaned, faking a smile, then placed his head back on the counter.

"Do not make me ask again. The money, now!"

"Twenty silvers. That's all I have right now so it will have to do," Damon answered with a dull voice.

Laris took the coins and motioned for two of his hulky guards to come over.

"I would not recommend doing that. As you've undoubtedly noticed, I am not in the best of moods," Damon said, apparently calm on the surface.

The innkeeper laughed off his warning while one of the hirelings approached Damon and banged his palm on the counter.

"Looks like we have ourselves a filthy rascal over here," he said to the other guard, who grinned cruelly.

"Well, you asked for it."

Without further threats, Damon drew out his dagger and pierced the man's hand, lodging it to the counter. The other guard sprang also for attack but was immediately knocked to the ground by a surge of telekinetic wave.

"Are we finished here or do you still want more?" Damon said tauntingly.

Enraged by his friend's failure, the wounded man began charging as well but had to leap sideways in order to evade a sudden flaming blast.

"No, stop! You are going to burn down my tavern!" Laris yelled, tearing his hair out.

Damon paid no attention to him and hurled a fireball at the hireling, blasting the man through the window while the other mercenaries fled away in panic.

"If I keep this up there will be no inns left in Minrathous," he muttered to himself then gazed towards Laris, who cowered in a corner, shacking with fear.

"Please don't kill me. I had no idea you were a mage, I swear," the innkeeper pleaded, keeping his eyes downcast.

Damon didn't reply to the man and flounced out of the tavern. The task given to him by the magister was like a splinter in his mind. He wondered if it wasn't all just a hoax but then again, why would they risk letting him go? There had to be a catch. However, if there was any chance to complete the mission, he had to drop by the Circle's library, even though it was the last place after the garrison that he'd want to visit.

A few elves, dressed all in rags, roamed the streets and begged for coins. The scene made him to frown, thinking about the degrading state of the city. On the other hand, he held a deep disdain towards most of the magisters, seeing them as pompous and even dumb to some extent. Damon remembered how Kane laughed when he shared his opinion regarding the ruling mageocrats.

"_It is true that most of them are simple minded people with simple needs and that is exactly why they can be so easily influenced. As long as you give them the illusion of power and make it seem real, they will obey any command."  
_

* * *

The Circle was bustling with people of various ranks, from mageocrats and scholars to young apprentices, all busy with their everyday routine. Yet, the little solace he had hoped to find was replaced by a combination of weariness and apprehension. Several years had passed since his last visit and the mere fact of it made his heart feel somewhat older.

Damon rushed up the stairs leading towards the library. The chamber was exactly as he remembered it – large and imposing, with different sections structured on multiple levels while hundreds, maybe even thousands of tomes and old scrolls neatly arranged on the shelves. Slightly daunted, Damon began his research regarding the Hundred Pillars region, presumably the location referred to by the Seekers.

However, the hours went by and the investigation remained fruitless.

_If I find one more passage mentioning the area only for its distinctive herbs and their usage, I swear I'm going to thrust the whole book down somebody's throat, _he thought, closing the tome and tossing it aside.

Damon gazed outside the window as the setting sun was about to withdraw behind the hills, leaving behind a crimson sky. Time appeared to be even less patient that day. He took another book and flipped hastily through its pages. There was nothing significant, mainly some descriptions about the area's dreary scenery and weather. Disgruntled by apparently another lack of fortune, Damon got up to return the book when a folded note fell down. He picked it up and not little was his surprise to find a whole page, possibly ripped off from another tome.

_…little known is that the caverns beneath the mountains once used to offer shelter to the elves, hiding from the Imperial armies, and later to other various groups. The granite pillars, which give the name to the location – Hundred Pillars - still remain much of mystery. _Damon smiled and went on reading, clearly intrigued by the new piece of information. _The columns vary from five to ten feet in height and even though some have fallen prey to decay, most are still in good shape. Their purposes, besides being purely ornamental, are unknown and will probably remain so as only elven lore could shed some light into this predicament. _The text went on presenting speculations regarding the peculiar structures, some plausible while others utterly ridiculous. However, Damon noticed a few words scribbled down in the corner of the page. _"Hallowed… deception"_, he murmured, puzzled by the words. He dwelled little on their meaning and thrust the note into his pocket, leaving the Circle with more questions than answers.

He was climbing down the stairs, when he heard his name being called. Surprised, Damon turned around, only to see magister Zaniel, the former first enchanter.

"For a moment there, I couldn't believe my eyes!" said the latter

"A pleasure to see you as well, first enchanter," Damon answered with cold courtesy.

The old man shook his head.

"Ah, sadly not anymore. Your master, magister Kane, has decided to replace me with someone more compliant to dance after his tune. Many of his… stewards have been invested with titles and leading posts. Quite odd that you haven't been appointed as magister yet. Last I remembered you were a more than capable mage."

"You may also recall that I do have neither the patience nor any sort of affliction towards politics."

"Yes, I guess many feel that way when they're young. It's a sentiment which hardly ever stays for long," Zaniel said with a feinted smile.

"I see you're still enjoying giving lectures about the great wisdoms of life."

"Well, we can't all spend our time searching for old gods and the glorious past. Some things should be left where they belong. It's something Kane will never understand."

"Completion. Something was started a long time ago and that same thing must be brought to an end, one way or the other."

"I'm having a hard time imagining how a bunch of deranged blood mages would manage to pull that off. Your order had its rights restored only because some of its disciples presumably helped against the templar armies and also at Kane's relentless behest. That does not change what it really is. But, alas, I could not change your mind all those years ago; I highly doubt I can influence you in any way now. Farewell and may you have health and luck in your journeys."

"Unfortunately, I cannot return such heart warming words because coming from me they would be nothing but lies. A simple goodbye must have to suffice."

Impervious to this derision, the old mage turned around and left. Damon rushed out of the building to avoid any other unpleasant meetings and headed to the docks area. Along with the evening, a chill and salty breeze settled in, auguring the usual mist which shrouded the harbour at night. A few elven slaves hurried to carry some cargo crates onboard the ship. The red standard embroiled with the shape of a golden sun loosened itself from the mast and got carried by the wind, ending up in a mud puddle on the street. Damon raised his gaze from the dirtied flag and stopped dead. Just a few metres away, he noticed Sayyid and two other mages from the garrison – Shill and Reuben, one of Silas's henchmen. Being noticed as well, Damon walked towards them feeling very apprehensive about their intentions.

"Oh, do not look so surprised! You couldn't have imagined that things will just follow their normal course. At least, not after what you've done," said the woman, with a strident voice. Her seemingly austere countenance was suited by the dark garments she wore.

"Where is Giles? And just what exactly are you lout doing here?" asked Damon, without bothering to hide his lack of enthusiasm.

"Magister Kane's orders," Sayyid explained. "We are to accompany you instead of Giles and your other associates."

"Is that so?"

"In case you might get a sudden urge to evade your responsibilities, we are more capable of getting your feet back on the ground… or bring your head back to the keep. Yes, that might work as well."

"Shill, your company is desired as much as that of a blade in the back. In fact, I would prefer the blade ten times more because it simply does not talk back."

"You poor, poor thing!" she said, bursting into laughter.

"If somehow you changed your mind about this task you can always return to the garrison and face the magister yourself," Reuben added.

He raised his head and glared at Damon from under his cowl. A nasty scar swept across his face and he grinned with malice.

"I, for one, would prefer you quitted and spared us of this tremendous waste of time," he continued on the same sardonic tone.

"Sorry to disappoint you, Ruby dear. Must be very hard for you to be separated from Silas in such a cruel manner! I mean, you are without doubt his right hand. Just imagine - what is he going to do now? Guess he'll probably have to start dating his other girlfriend."

"Jest, while you still have the chance," Reuben retorted while Shill chuckled at both of them.

Damon smirked at him to hide his resentment towards the fact that Reuben had indeed a point. If there had been some little chance of escaping before, it was all gone now. However, he could not help but wonder if there was any other reason for them to accompany him besides playing guard. After all, they were all of a higher rank than he was and it seemed highly unlikely for the magister to simply dispatch them to an apparently doomed mission.

They boarded up the ship for Vyrantium that night, the voyage proceeding without any significant events. Damon spent the next couple of days mostly alone, keeping his distance from the others.

"Behave yourself and try not to do anything foolish. This might turn out better than you're expecting," Sayyid told him once he got a chance to speak in private.

Damon looked at the swordsman distrustfully but didn't reply. It was wiser to act complacent at least for a while, until they got wary of keeping an eye on him. He favoured the idea of a waiting game and smiled to himself. At least two of them would be easier to deceive. On the other hand, Sayyid would continue to pose a problem; not even once did he let his guard down.

_Tricky, but not altogether impossible,_ Damon thought, watching the waves pounding against the steep, rocky coastline.

After Vyrantium, everything continued on the same note. Hardly speaking a word and keeping to himself, Damon avoided hassling with the others as much as it was possible. The endless row of shapeless peaks, bearing a sullen brown hue, began to rise sharply in the distance – dark silhouettes of a grim augury.

* * *

A maze of jagged, ebony rocks and pinnacles was what the barren landscape of The Hundred Pillars comprised. Ever so often, the paths would be concealed by an opalescent fog which loomed down heavily on the unwary traveller, sending chills to the bones while the wind hummed a dreary litany.

"As far as I can see… well… no, in fact, far would not accurately describe the extent of my sight," said Damon, leaning over the brink of the cliff whose feet lay hidden by an endless row of drifting clouds. "I guess we should retrace our paces back a little and look for another way to climb down."

"Doesn't anyone feel like we've been here before…?" Shill asked with a tremor in her voice. She gazed around frantically, trying to find evidence hinting the otherwise.

The third day spent on the stony ridge of the mountains was slowly coming to an end, void of any triumphs as well as the ones before.

"It's difficult to tell when everything looks the same," said Sayyid.

"We shouldn't be lost. Let me just check the map again."

"Well, good thing we have a map which is utterly pointless 'cause otherwise I would definitely start to worry," said Damon, his patience slipping away.

"This task is ridiculous. Why not simply turn back? Only Damon's head is at stake here and frankly I find myself not giving a rat's furry arse."

"What a brilliant idea, Reuben! Oh, wait. I think I'm getting one too! How about… we threw you into that chasm to test how far it goes?"

"Humph, mages… always bickering like a bunch of old fishwives," Sayyid muttered, folding his hands. "Listen you two! I'm the one who's in charge so we do as I say. There are still enough supplies left for a couple of days so I'd suggest you got past any sore attitudes. Now then, I believe I saw another way to climb down not very far from here. Slightly narrow path but I guess it will have to do. Come," he said, motioning for the others to follow.

Scattered from place to place, there stood tall pillars stretching towards the leaden skies. Coppery brown in colour and with their bases hidden away in stone, they looked as if they had grown out from the earth.

After wandering about for an hour or so, they've finally managed to get on the right trail. With an ominous precipice to the right, the progress was utterly hindered yet they managed to climb down to a lower terrace before evening.

"This should be it, the location of the mines," Shill said with enthusiasm and ran ahead. "Yes, there's the track gauge for the carts and the entrance… oh blast it!"

As the fog lifted, revealing the entrance, Damon and the others were soon faced with another impediment since a cave in had blocked the path.

"There must be another way to enter," said Sayyid.

A deep narrow shaft into the ground laid just a few metres away. The swordsman put down his knapsack and took out a coil of rope, then made it fast to one of the nearby pillars.

"It looks a bit tight and needless to say dark," said Damon, peering into the ghastly chasm.

"How very observant of you! By all means, such great skill should not go unrewarded. This is why I would suggest you going first into the depths," Shill answered while Sayyid grinned in approval.

Damon frowned and grabbed the rope, tying it around his waste.

"And yet again, I am the only one here with a spark of courage!" he grumbled, taking another look into the chasm.

Sayyid lowered him steadily down the shaft. "You're at the end of the rope!" he shouted after a few minutes. "Do you see the bottom already?"

"No! But it can't be that far! A few feet at most!" Damon answered. He gazed down, disheartened by the surrounding blackness. "I'm going to dive in from here!"

Sayyid felt the rope loosening and shortly after there was a loud thud.

"Are you still in one piece down there?" asked the swordsman.

"I think he said yes. Anyhow, I'm going next," said Shill.

A few rays of light barely scratched the otherwise impenetrable darkness. Damon pressed himself against the stone wall, waiting for the others to climb down as well.

"It remains a complete mystery to me how dwarves enjoy this kind of living, dozens of metres underground. I for one feel like being in a tomb," he said, once they were all down. "Stuffed air, this gloomy obscurity, mushrooms everywhere, also the occasional darkspawn – why would anyone fancy such things?"

Sayyid lit up a torch, which spread a vivid glow throughout the narrow passage. A disquieting silence reigned over the place, only to be seldom interrupted by the ghastly wind above. At least, the cavern provided shelter from the cold. They set out on their way again, following the winding tunnel, which descended steeply a few times before becoming level once more. The swordsman leaded the group as before, followed closely by Shill, while Damon and Reuben came slightly behind. Despite the weariness began to catch up with them, they were not ready to halt the journey quite yet. The idea of resting in that place didn't bring any comfort.

"You mentioned that there have been others to explore these tunnels. Might I ask what became of them?" Damon uttered towards Shill.

"They were six when they set out but only one managed to return. Surely, you must have seen him. Creepy Creighley? The guy with an odd fetish for insects? He claims to have survived a week just by eating the gruesome bugs and crawlers that inhabit this place," she answered.

"Interesting. I had always wondered how the garrison was so free of vermin. If only there was a way to convince him of eating the rats as well. So what exactly did they find down here?"

"An old dwarven thaig," said the woman after a short pause. "Or at least what appeared to be a dwarven thaig. Guess we'll see for ourselves when we get there."

Damon nodded. He then noticed that the passageway had grown wider and taller. A warm air gently swept across their faces as flaming braziers scattered the darkness away. They were no longer in the mines.

"The Deep Roads… so the crazy bastard was telling the truth," said Sayyid, gazing at the huge and empty halls.

The walls still retained intricate dwarven runes while towering columns and arches made any trespasser feel small and humble. Despite the immensity of the place, the layers of rock stretching above caused an even greater sense of tension. The ceiling remained engulfed in obscurity, making it appear as if the shadows themselves kept a close watch over them. They continued to press on regardless, without any of them speaking a word. The first change of scenery occurred only hours after, when the path split into two ways – one seemingly continuing as before while the other leading to a sloping staircase.

"Creighley mentioned something about climbing up some stairs," said Shill. "We must be getting closer."

Their ascension was slow due to the slippery and narrow steps, which had been worn down by time. The staircase would also seem to end abruptly but instead veered to the left as in a spiral. A dark and menacing gap soon formed behind them and one moment of inattention or a wrongly placed step was all it required. After much struggle, they climbed the last stair, reaching a high terrace. The path continued through another tunnel, which opened to a great stone bridge strongly anchored by huge chains. The gates of the dwarven thaig lay just across.

"This had better be as sturdy as any dwarven construction," said Damon, gazing down at the fiery chasm of molten lava.

* * *

The underground city had been well preserved through the ages and even seemed to be inviting to some extent. Braziers burned with cheerful flames while the general atmosphere was warm and pleasant. The architecture, although solid like any dwarven structure or craft, had a unique touch, which set it apart from the usual masonry used by the dwarves. Instead, it resembled something else entirely. Carefully engraved into the stone were large murals depicting vistas of scenic beauty. Numerous other symbols, some of which Shill recognised as being elven, adorned the walls.

Another peculiar aspect was the multitude of lyrium veins, scattered all around the place. An eerie bluish luminescence surrounded them, glowing vividly in the dark corners.

In the middle of this outlandish dwelling was a large courtyard paved with coloured bricks and right at its centre there was a small pool of crystal clear water. A few rays of moonlight slipped through the small fissures in the ceiling and gently touched the surface of the water, giving it a most ineffable appearance.

Damon peered into the mirror looking pool and kneeled down to touch the surface of the water, which started to radiate with silvery glimmers, like hundreds of tiny, little stars. As the ripples receded and the pool became still again, Damon realised, much to his dismay, that his own figure had been replaced with a ghastly spectre which stared right back at him. The thing had no eyes and yet two glowing points, surrounded by an empty blackness seemed fastened on him. A strange numbness was slowly taking over him and he couldn't shift his gaze away from the wraith. Damon felt his thoughts and memories being read like an open book by the ghostly entity. His head throbbed with pain and he strained to move away but it was all in vain. Not even blinking was possible, as the spectre held him firmly under its control. He mustered all his strength once more and made another attempt to break loose. The wraith grinned and just then, Damon fell on his back with a sudden cry, making the others to turn around.

"Huh, got scared by your own reflection? I cannot blame you since, truth be told, you do look terrible," said Shill while the others burst into laughter.

"Something's not right with this place… Oh, you'll all soon be laughing on the other side of your faces," Damon uttered. "Hasn't anyone noticed how friendly everything seems to be?"

"So you would have darkspawn and giant spiders and other beasts ambush us? I think I'm quite fine with whatever this is," said Reuben.

"I for one prefer to know what manner of foe I'm facing. By the gods, why is it all so… empty?"

"I've been wondering the same thing," Sayyid answered. "We'd best be careful."

At the end of the cavern stood a white marble temple, by far the most graceful structure that the city comprised. Two odd-looking statues, with their faces covered in their palms, were placed by the entrance. They climbed the stairs and entered the temple, not without a growing feeling of restlessness. There wasn't much to be found inside except a few clay vessels scattered about. Near the shrine, however, the earthly remains of what once was a person laid covered in dust on the ground.

"This is never a good sign... Is that a book right next to it?" asked Damon.

A few pages fell down when Shill picked up the old tome.

"Looks like some kind of a journal," she said. The writings have ebbed away, making whole parts completely unreadable. "_1185 TE, we've entered the Deep Roads in hope that they will put an end to their pursuit. They claim of doing the Maker's work but it has all gone too far. No, Hiram is right. This secret should forever remain buried. The consequences could be far more disastrous than a blight and this is something that neither the seekers nor the other grey wardens would ever understand…"_

"Pfft, grey wardens now? It takes all the kinds," Reuben commented.

Shill turned a few pages and resumed her reading.

_"Yesterday we've come across a most strange city. It does not seem to have been built by the dwarves yet its structures look solid and well build. Another staggering thing is that we haven't found any sort of inhabitants – not even the usual darkspawn who plague the whole Deep Roads. I wonder if this is indeed a good omen. Whatever the case, no one can deny its beauty…"_

"This much we've gathered as well. But I sense it wasn't old age which got him in the end," said Damon.

_"We shouldn't have come here. This place is alive… now it won't let us leave. Something lurks into the shadows. It took four of our men… They've disappeared into the thin air but we can still hear their screams… Hiram and Napier have found a hidden passageway under the shrine. It's been six hours and they have still not returned. I dread to think of what came of their fates… How long has it been? Days, weeks maybe? I cannot say. The temple has proven to be safe for now and the wards I've summoned keep out whatever it is out there. The whole beauty of this place has gained such a cruel aspect. I fear to enter the passage my friends chose to follow, but I have little choice… An ominous humming can be heard from down there… There is something here with me, crawling into my mind, I cannot escape it…Maker, help me!"_

Damon shivered as a sudden feeling of dread began to creep over him. The last words, taken out of the whole, described vividly his incident with the wraith from the mirror-looking pool. He decided not to mention anything about the horrible figure he had seen. But the mere thought of being possessed returned to him over and over again. The thing must have been indeed a demon; he knew that, even though he shunned away the possibility. Could he be already possessed, without realising it?

_I must calm down,_ he said to himself, trying to hide away his fear.

Shill raised her head and gazed at the others with a grave look.

"The rest seems covered in blood."

"Oh, marvellous! Did Creighley tell you nothing of… this!?" Reuben shouted.

"That guy is a complete lunatic! It was dumb luck that I got anything from him at all."

"Well, he's going to be a dead lunatic when we turn back. Wait 'till Silas hears of this. He's going to have him cut into pieces!"

"Get a grip on yourself, Reuben!" said Sayyid. "You do not improve anything by fretting about the whole situation."

"You want me to calm down? Just simply, calm down!? I'm getting out here!" he shouted and stormed out of the temple.

"Reuben, come back this instant!"

"I will not risk getting killed over an idiotic quest and a sorry excuse for a mage," he rasped, heading towards the gates. "We should have never come here-"

Without finishing his sentence, Reuben was hurled a few metres back by what seemed a wide, invisible barrier which now blocked the way out. For a few moments, glimmers of light swirled around the place the mage had hit the invisible wall.

"Did anyone else notice that? It felt like a quake," said Damon.

"The Veil seems to have weakened. Reuben, move away from the barrier!" Shill yelled.

"By Dumat! We are trapped in here like rats!" Reuben moaned.

"Let's head back to the temple. At least we know it's safe there," said the swordsman.

"How can it be safe? That grey warden died as well, did he not?"

"Quit your whining and move!" Sayyid retorted in a thundering voice.

The mage obeyed the order without any further comments and they all ran back to the temple. Once inside, the swordsman walked towards the shrine, searching for the possible passageway mentioned in the journal.

"Are you still shaking, Ruby dear? Perhaps you should lie down for a while. If you feel the need to cry then go ahead and cry. I'm not going to laugh, I promise," Damon said with derision and chuckled.

"This is all your fault! You screwed everything up and now we're all going to die!"

"You're nothing more than a pathetic coward."

Reuben's face grew livid with rage and lashed out at Damon, punching him one in the face. Dazed by the sudden blow, the latter staggered back a little, blood dripping from his nose. Shill began laughing hysterically at the scene and clapped her hands with enthusiasm.

"Big mistake, Reuben," he grunted, taking out a dagger, but was immediately stopped by Sayyid who grabbed his arm firmly.

"The situation is already precarious as it is without you two idiots killing each other," the swordsman shouted.

Damon felt the anger seething down inside of him yet he restrained himself. It wasn't the right time for a confrontation.

* * *

The narrow passage beneath the shrine wound steadily downwards for a mile or so then went straight again. A chill darkness engulfed them, making the torches needed once again. They continued to march as before, upon arriving at a long staircase leading towards another part of the tenebrous depths. The swordsman halted the others and raised his torch, attempting to make out something in the swirling blackness which lay before him.

"It's a trap. Look!" he said, pointing to the pile of skeletons at the bottom of the stairs. "If only we could figure out what it is…"

"Great! Things just continue to get better and better," Shill said, disconcerted by the new setback.

"It would be easier if we knew what killed these poor sods. I could speculate, of course, but there must be a way to know for sure," Sayyid answered in a grave tone.

"An explosion, perhaps? Old dwarven thaigs have that sort of defence mechanisms, or so I've heard."

"But this is not an ordinary dwarven thaig now, is it?"

Damon sighed as Shill and the swordsman began arguing with each other over the ways to tackle the predicament. All that clamour was giving him a headache, especially since there was only one sure manner to learn more about the trap. He shifted his gaze towards Reuben, who peered at the skeletons with both fear and disgust. The mage seemed absorbed by his thoughts, thing which made Damon grin with pleasure. He looked back again at the others but they were too preoccupied with their conversation to notice anything else.

"Well, this isn't going anywhere," Damon said in a loud voice.

Seeing how everyone was still ignoring him, he laughed to himself about such a rare opportunity and shoved Reuben, who tripped and rolled halfway down the stairs.

Shill gasped in shock and covered her mouth in her palms.

"You are going to pay dearly for that," Reuben muttered as he got up from the ground.

"Do not move! Stay right where you are!" Sayyid shouted at him pointlessly, since Reuben was too blinded by rage and started climbing up the stairs.

A rickety sound followed closely by grinding noise made the mage stop dead in his run and gaze back in horror. Just then, a sharp blade came out of the wall and before anyone could realize, it swiftly severed his head. A fountain of blood sprang out while the body collapsed, twisting spasmodically. Gradually, its convulsions came to an end.

"Well… there were no explosions," said Damon with nonchalance.

"You killed him," Shill uttered and turned a vexed stare at him.

"I'm afraid I do not understand your anguish, my dearest. That bastard had it coming for a long time. No? Not reasonable enough for you? Maybe this will work," he said, faking a cough then continued, "He died a hero's death so we could all be safe. May the Maker rest his soul… wait, we don't believe in that crap. Oh Dumat, please hear my most humble plea and may you accept Reuben's soul to lay by your side… I'll take this silence as an answer that you have heard my prayers," Damon shouted bursting into laughter.

The wall blade remained stuck above the ground, still dripping with the mage's blood.

"This is somewhat disturbing," Sayyid said, frowning, then went to examine the contraption more closely. "If the trap can only be triggered once then there must another mechanism which resets it."

"Why is that important?" Shill asked after regaining her calm.

"Because _someone_ must have reactivated these traps – which means that we are not alone. Wait here a moment until I make sure the path is perfectly safe."

Damon continued to smile broadly, visibly undaunted by the swordsman's words.

"One foolish thing after another. A wiser person would tread lightly, considering the mess you've been causing lately, but you just do not know when to quit," Shill said, slightly irritated by his demeanour.

"I believe the word you are looking for is amazing."

"Ugh, there is one amazing thing about you and that, I'm afraid, is your stupidity. The only way you could get off scot-free out of this would be if you killed Sayyid… and me as well…"

The sudden realization filled her with chagrin and she gazed back at Damon to confirm her suspicions.

_He seems baffled by what I've said. Perhaps this was all about getting back at Reuben and nothing more, _Shill thought.

"You wouldn't kill me, right?" she said in a sleek tone and moved towards him, reaching out and caressing his cheek. The touch of her cold hand sent shivers down his spine and their eyes locked for a moment.

"You have quite the sense of humor, my dear," he said, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips. "I could never harm you."

"Everything appears to be alright so I would suggest we kept going on," Sayyid uttered with a stern face.

"Don't have to say that twice," Shill said, going ahead and carefully avoiding the pool of blood which formed around Reuben's body. She glanced at it with disgust then quickly looked away.

"I want you to walk in front of me where I can see you," Sayyid whispered to Damon, who returned a puzzled stare. "Try pulling another prank like the one you did with Reuben and you will be one head shorter as well. Have I made myself clear?"

"Sayyid, you have nothing to-"

The swordsman shoved Damon into the wall, glaring malevolently.

"Do not take me for a fool," he rasped. "Now do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal clear."

He let Damon go, his eyes still glinting with suspicion.

_I will not spare him again,_ Sayyid said to himself as they ventured on through the dark passageway.


	5. The Lurker in the Dark

**The Lurker in the Dark**

There was something different about his demeanour, a subtle change that the swordsman couldn't fully grasp at the moment. It was not in Damon's nature to act so submissive and calm. And if this was all just a façade, then what exactly could he be planning. Sayyid found himself quite amused by the idea that Damon could actually premeditate such an elaborate scheme and even carry it through. The magister appeared to be right about him – Damon was getting more cunning and powerful but perhaps too unpredictable.

The swordsman continued to keep watch as the others rested. At least the small chamber they found was providing a better sense of shelter than the open passage. Nothing disturbed the heavy stillness. To keep track of time in such dark and forgotten depths felt almost impossible. Sayyid's attention was all aimed at the arched door, keeping his guard. It was too quiet for his liking and would have preferred to leave as soon as possible but the others needed to rest. Even though whatever lurked in that place had not yet chosen to attack them directly, they certainly needed all the strength to fight it back. Thinking about Reuben's death made him frown. The mage was neither that much skilled nor brave for the matter but at least he would've been useful in a battle.

Sayyid felt weary all of a sudden. His head was numb as if the pitch darkness was slowly slipping inside his mind, clouding his thoughts and judgement. He leaned himself against the stone wall and closed his eyes. The sound of pebbles rolling on the ground echoed throughout the hollow tunnel, rousing the swordsman, who immediately sprang to his feet. Cursing his failure to stay awake, he staggered towards the door and peeked outside. Just as he expected, there was nothing to be seen in the vast obscurity.

_I should wake up the others. We have tarried enough here,_ he said to himself and turned around, looking for the torch. The dim light swept throughout the chamber with renewing hope - a misleading feeling, which Sayyid would come to realize soon enough. At the back of the cavern, shrouded in a fog of blackness, he saw a most horrid apparition. Its cadaverous figure stroke the swordsman with fear, making him unable to move. After a few moments, he tried reaching his sword but just then, the spectre vanished away. Wondering if his eyes have been deceiving him, Sayyid roused the others and they left the chamber with haste.

The tunnel opened into three other passages, two of them leading towards apparently the same direction and going smoothly as before whilst the other one climbed up steadily.

"My guess here would be that if we want to ever get back to the surface we might want to try ascending for a change," Shill said.

"This sudden shift could be just luring us into another trap. But that doesn't imply the other ones are safer."

Choosing the last passageway, they marched on for another mile without facing up any danger of sorts. This spurred confidence, scarce as it was. The ground was level again, yet this time it was paved with dark marble plates. On the sideways there were columns encrusted with runes made of lyrium, which glowed dimly.

"How beautiful," Shill said, mesmerized by the intricate carvings.

"Wait up! You're too far ahead," Sayyid shouted.

A cracking noise echoed throughout the tunnel followed by a low tremor of the ground. After only a few seconds it all stopped. They looked at each other with dread but no one dared to move.

"W-What do you think that was?" Shill asked.

"It felt like it was coming from beneath," Sayyid said and gazed down at the ground. "This is not possible!"

Although barely visible at first, the entire floor was covered in fissures some larger than the others. Then the shattering sounds started again this time accompanied by a crashing noise which came from the back of the tunnel.

"Run!" they heard the swordsman shout as the ground began shacking again and collapsing from under their feet.

Shill raced through the black passage as fast as she could. At its end, there lay a heavy stone door which she tried pushing with all her strength but it was all in vain. The crashing noise was getting louder with every moment. Damon finally caught up and they both managed to move the door at the last second. After entering the new tunnel, the quake came to a standstill as silence took over once more.

"Phew, that was invigorating," Damon panted, but his smile faded away upon seeing Shill livid with fear.

"Behind you…" she whispered in a hoarse voice.

Damon turned around reluctantly. Just in front of him, all wrapped in shadow stood the same figure he had seen in the underground city. The creature stared at him and grinned as before then vanished into the pitch darkness.

"That thing's must have followed me this whole time," he thought aloud, his words echoing throughout the cavern.

"What do you mean it was following _you_? Why would it follow you!?" Shill yelled with reproach.

"I've seen it before, alright? It was probably the same thing which Sayyid saw. Speaking of which, have you not noticed that there is only the two of us remaining?"

Shill didn't answer and ran to the stone door. Beyond it, there was only a huge black chasm left and no trace of the swordsman. Damon allowed himself a soft chuckle, seeing that he wouldn't have to keep up his charade with so much effort. He then shifted his gaze towards Shill who was still shivering with fear. Disposing of her would be far too easy, should that become requisite later on.

"Be careful not to fall, my dearest," Damon whispered to her with fake concern and placed his hands on her shoulders. "That would be an awful waste," he continued mockingly.

"We should leave as soon as possible," she said, brushing her worries aside and backing down from the edge.

They proceeded more cautiously from that point, expecting a possible ambush at any time. Their advance was slow, halting many times to rest.

"I've been meaning to ask you something, Shill. Do you know what the _hallowed deception_ refers to?" Damon asked during one such brief halts.

She turned a baffled stare at him then answered hastily.

"Never heard about it."

"Ah, you've been instructed not to say a word about it," he said with a sly grin. "This means it's important – which is a good thing because I was afraid it was all some silly nonsense."

Shill remained oblivious to his last remarks, thing which annoyed blood magic to extract further information would result in her death and he preferred leaving that as a last resort.

"It's safe to tell me; I can keep a secret," he insisted, using the same slick tone.

"Oh, fine! I guess it doesn't really matter right now," she answered then paused for a short while. "It's more of a theory, if you must know - that the mighty Old Gods have been imprisoned by a group of people and not by the Maker. At any rate, it's like a double edged sword."

"Why is that?"

"Think about it. The whole Chantry dogma would simply collapse; it would be nothing but lies. Subsequently, it would also make the Old Gods seem weaker. What manner of God would be so easily defeated by a bunch of mortals?"

The sound of footsteps and plate armour clinging called their attention as it was slowly getting near. They stood in await, ready to fight off whatever peril came next.

"Is that a revenant?" Shill said, barely making out the outline of the steel-plated foe. Its red glowing eyes peered right through them.

"Let's just see how tough this thing is," Damon uttered, preparing to unleash a bolt of flames upon the demon.

The fireball hit its target yet the revenant didn't seem to be harmed. Instead, it let its shield down and with only a whirl of its hand, both Shill and Damon were knocked to the ground and dragged towards the creature. Shill got up just in time to avoid the sweeping blow which followed and managed to trap the demon in a prison of telekinetic force. Damon sprang to his feet as well and took a few steps back from the revenant. A coil of lightning surged from his hands hitting the creature in full swing. However, no matter how hard they tried, the damage seemed to be repelled every time.

"There's no use," Shill said, feeling her strength dwindling.

The spell prison was starting to weaken and would soon release the revenant while the same sound of more heavy footsteps began echoing through the tunnel.

"Don't look now but I think more company is on its way," said Damon. "Nevertheless, we should take a look on the bright side of things."

"Is there a bright side?" Shill asked, trembling with fear.

"We might be able to outrun these bastards," he said as a blast of ice cold wind froze the revenant to a standstill.

They groped their way through the dark passage, hurried by the echo of their pursuers. The chase appeared to end badly for the two. Shill stopped for a moment and gasped for air.

"Wait up," she yelled towards Damon who was a few metres ahead of her.

A feint rumble made him stop as well. Fearing that he might have activated a contraption similar to the one which killed Reuben, he kneeled to the ground. Since nothing happened, he turned around. The wall had closed behind him, leaving Shill trapped on the other side with the approaching revenants.

"No…," she shouted, banging her fists against the wall. "This cannot be happening! Damon, see if you can find a lever to open the passage back! Hurry!"

There was indeed a lever but Damon didn't rush himself to trigger it. Instead he gazed back at the trapping wall with a stern look.

"Hurry up already!" Shill shouted from the other side.

"There is no lever… I'm afraid I cannot do anything."

"What!? No, then there must be a hidden switch somewhere. Please, look more carefully."

"I'm sorry, Shill," he uttered, placing his palm against the wall.

A short period of silence followed, when neither of them spoke a word. It was funny, an almost ludicrous perspective in how easy the decision had proven to be. He was safe from the revenants and that was all that mattered.

"Don't you dare leaving me here, you rotting bastard! Come back!"

Damon turned away and left, without looking back. Her yells and curses persisted for a little while, eerie echoes drifting along the passageway. In a strange way, the wails felt appropriate somehow, like a sensible touch added to the tenebrous surroundings. The heavy silence which set in abruptly made him quiver. Its meaning was harshly obvious. Even though he was trapped dozens of metres underground and the endless tunnel would most probably serve as his tomb, there was a feeling of sweet release in not being under the order's power anymore. He burst into laughter, thinking of the possibility of simply leaving the order for good. However, this sudden idea quickly lost its shine. They could have still traced him, same as the templars hound their apostates, only he would not be granted any kind of mercy. The only thing left to do was to find whatever the grey wardens were carrying and bring that back to the magister. Maybe it wasn't too late to hope.

The dark emptiness of the passageway soon crawled into his heart, making him speed up his pace. A glimmer of elation swept across his face when he noticed a stone door at the end of the tunnel. Damon rushed towards it and attempted to open it. The door only moved a little so he tried giving it a harder push. This time, the door opened widely exposing a vast area and a fiery lake of lava a few dozens of metres below. Damon withdrew a few steps from the hallucinating scenery. Much to his dismay, he realized there was no path but a narrow ledge leading to another passage.

"There's no other way," he said to himself. With his back against the wall, he stepped slowly, carefully placing each foot. A few rocks detached from the ledge, making it even narrower in one portion. The scorching chasm sent waves of heat which sharply slapped his face. He soon found himself stoned with fear and unable to move, as the ledge appeared to be growing thinner and thinner. Damon closed his eyes for a brief second, shunning away the slithering urge to leap into the chasm. Gradually, he regained his composure and managed to cross the remaining part of the ledge. When he finally reached the tunnel he sat down for a while, his mind addled and drops of sweat streaming down his forehead.

Damon staggered back to his feet. A chill draught blew from the new corridor, invigorating him. As he continued his way, Damon couldn't help but notice a strange peculiarity about the dark surroundings, similar to the one in the city. The Veil felt weak and every now and then he could see shapes of ghostly figures just for a few split seconds before they dissipated again. He tried not to pay too much attention to them and walked along silently as a shadow.

Soon, something else caught his eye. Not too far ahead, a green bluish light shined softly. What he saw next was beyond his imagination. A massive rune stone covered with layers of raw lyrium hovered above a large niche dug deep into the rock. Damon remembered reading once about the ancient lyrium wells, great sources of magical power, created by the joint forces of the dwarves and Tevinter magisters, and it all matched the descriptions very well.

The way out was blocked by what appeared to be a red miasma of sorts. He tried crossing, but the cloud was too dense to be able to breathe. The close proximity to the raw lyrium was starting to make him feel nauseous and he searched around frantically for another escape route. His hands were beginning to feel shaky and he kneeled down to rest for a moment. Just then, he noticed a lever close to the well.

Upon activating the switch, the lyrium well began spinning rapidly with a thundering roar, shrouding the chamber in a claret haze. The path was no longer sealed.

"This cannot be real…" Damon muttered as he gazed around, baffled by the Fade like aspect of the place. A feinted melody resounded from the well with deep and mesmerising tunes. Somehow he felt connected to these odd tunes and no matter how much he strained to recall from where he had heard them, it all seemed to slip away.

Damon kept walking for the next hours through what appeared as a series of intricate passageways. There was seemingly no way out. Weariness soon caught up with him swaying him to yield. He stopped for a second to gather his thoughts but it was useless. Any attempts to concentrate were hindered, like the time he was staring into the mirror looking pool. A chill draft engulfed him, draining his powers and he soon collapsed to the ground.

* * *

It was quiet. And still. But did the silence warn him of the absence of something? And if so, what was that which had gone missing in plain sight? Damon found himself standing in a long hallway whose both ends were not visible. The walls were made of stone, barren, with no tapestries or other decorations. They seemed cold… freezing cold in fact, uninviting and even loathsome or at least that was how Damon's mind perceived things. Yet he felt neither chill nor pain… nothing.

He made a few steps. The hallway should've been pitch-dark as there were no windows or torches. But there was clearly a source of light since he saw things very well. A strange feeling of running away suddenly took over Damon and he soon began hurrying through the empty passage. After an hour or so, when he finally stopped, he noticed with bewilderment that he was still in the same place from where he had started. "_I have to find a way out of here",_ he thought and turned his head to the left. There was a door, hinge, latch and everything. And of course it was there when it had always been there and no place else. Damon smiled at the silly idea and opened the door. Outside, there was a small garden, overgrown with weeds and other thorny plants. The sky was bleak and lifeless, bearing a dark and gloomy spectre instead of a sun. He sat down on a nearby bench and gazed long at the shadowy vortex for several minutes, stricken by its familiar peculiarity. Just for a very short glimpse, he caught the image of another dwelling, large in size and filled with dozens of towering structures twisting their way up to the empty skies, upon melting again into a foul haze. Damon jumped to his feet, shaken by the ominous scenery.

"I know what you've seen," said a voice behind him. An uncanny apparition stood just a few feet away. Even though he could not make the features of the ghost, he felt its penetrating stare upon him.

"What is this place?" Damon asked with a vague tremble in his voice.

"You already know the answer to that question."

The spirit's echoing voice carried a well too known timbre which disturbed him deeply.

"Alright, I've certainly been here before, even though I cannot say exactly when… it is indeed very difficult to think clearly," he said, riveting his eyes around the strange dwelling. "Everything is vague… I can scarcely remember what I was doing before this… it's as if I am just a reflection, a mere image…"

Damon moved towards the edge of the garden and gazed at the endless abyss.

"Of course… this is the Fade!" he shouted at the top of his voice and started laughing. "How does one fail to recognize such a dreary, tedious, insipid place!?"

"Think about how you've got here," said the spirit.

"Well, I was simply… actually, I find myself not knowing… Hold on a minute. What manner of spirit do I have the pleasure of talking to?"

"Oh, but what have I done to trigger suspicion on your part?"

"Heh, I know only two kinds of spirits – the ones whose sole moral value is utter carelessness regarding everything and would not bother to offer help; there are also the other type of fellows who usually offer their help, quite frequently I might add, only that they always want something in return."

"Sadly, I belong to neither of these categories. But let us leave it at that for now. I suspect you realize that you being trapped here is the work of a demon and a powerful one, I might add. However, no matter how skilled you think you are at the moment, you cannot defeat this foe all by yourself and certainly not in this realm."

"And I suspect you wish to help me get out of this predicament."

"Maybe. Provided you heeded my advice, of course."

"But what have you to gain by aiding me?" he asked, frowning at the spirit.

"Let me make one thing clear. You are about to die," the spirit answered with a harsh and cold tone. "Yes, the odds are all tied up against you at the moment and it would be wise to listen if you don't want to spend an eternity in this _dreary, tedious, insipid place._ As regarding to who I am or what I have to gain from the outcome – those are both of no consequence to you."

Damon resented the spirit's approach yet he felt inclined to trust its words.

"Very well. What is it that I should do?" he asked.

"I will attempt to send you back but to ensure that you will not return here for a more permanent holiday you must listen carefully. Remember the following words exactly as I say them: _Life cuts deeper than death._"

* * *

Damon opened his eyes. He was lying in a wide hallway with tall columns stretching towards the ceiling. A few burning braziers spread a vivid bluish light. Although his vision was groggy, he could definitely see the vague shape of another man a few steps away from him.

"Would you look at that… What were the odds of finding you here?" he said, grinning.

"Sayyid… How…?" Damon sputtered.

"Is that confusion I hear in your voice or rather disappointment?"

"No, I am… it's just that I saw you falling and I simply assumed you were-"

"Dead? Yes, I believe I cannot hold that against you. For a moment I thought that I was surely done for, but apparently providence would not let it be this way. I fell into another passage and this is where it led me. Ah, but where is our psychopathic witch?" Sayyid said, fixing Damon with a cold stare.

"Shill couldn't make it… We were ambushed by some revenants and she… fell behind. There was really nothing I could have done," said the latter, disconcerted by the swordsman's growing suspicion.

"That is terrible. What can I say; her death does not bode well for you."

Damon glared at him in dismay.

"Are accusing me of murdering Shill? Is that it?" he said.

"You would really plead innocence on this, wouldn't you?"

"What would I gain by killing her?" Damon shouted, evenly irritated and frightened by Sayyid's words. "Oh, it must be the lyrium infesting these caves. It has evidently gone to your head!"

"I have to be honest with you, Damon. Magister Kane bid me to slay you in case I would notice anything suspicious in your behaviour or if you attempted to escape. I decided to turn a blind eye with Reuben but that was a one time thing. And as far as I recall, you have been warned that there will be no more lucky hazards for you."

Having said that, he drew out his sword and charged towards Damon, missing him by a few inches.

"Listen to me, Sayyid. You are making a grave mistake. There's a very powerful demon and it will kill us both if you don't stop with this tomfoolery at once!"

"Ha, at least a demon's intents are clear."

Sayyid lashed out at Damon who leaped backwards, avoiding the hit.

"You might not realize it but this is hardly the right time and place for killing each other. Can't we settle this in a more peaceful way?"

The swordsman responded with an unkind sneer. As soon as he distanced himself from Sayyid, Damon began casting a blast of swirling flames which dissipated shortly into the air, much to his chagrin.

"You'll have to do better than that. After all, I once used to be a templar," Sayyid growled, noticing the fear etched on Damon's face, and charged once more. This time, however, he was knocked to the ground. Incensed, he tried to get back to his feet yet his senses felt paralyzed and each attempt to break loose from the spell resulted in a piercing pain.

"_Never underestimate your enemies_ – that must've been one of the first lessons you taught me," said Damon, holding a small dagger whose thin blade was dripping blood. "Now, how about you threw your sword away?"

Sayyid obeyed the command, not without vainly straining to resist.

"See? I knew we could get along quite nicely," he continued with the same note of disdain in his voice. Seeing the swordsman boiling with rage made him chuckle. "My, but our dearest magister would be absolutely appalled to see his most trusted servant go down so easily. Oh, I can even picture him all pompous and conceited, hissing out loud the word _disappointed._"

Sayyid fixed him with a baleful stare, standing still for a moment.

"Rest assured though, for if I indeed wanted you dead, you would've already been so by now. Saying that, I would have a proposition to make – we do our best to get back to the surface and once we're there you return to the keep and tell the magister that I died; the details are entirely up to you. For what's worth, you could even tell them that a bronto sat on me and squashed me. I just want them off of my back. Understood?"

It was difficult to read anything on the swordsman's frigid visage. He appeared to be calm and whatever feelings of enmity he might have had, they were carefully kept hidden away. This sudden change in his demeanour was vexing, if not disturbing. The easy way would've been to simply kill him yet Damon recalled the spirit's words echoing through his mind. He felt strangely compelled to heed their advice, no matter how ludicrous it all seemed to be at a first glimpse, and released the spell.

Damon held out his hand towards Sayyid and helped him get up.

"No hard feelings, right?" said Damon, while the swordsman went to pick up the sword from the ground, remaining silent the whole time.

"Amusing…" Sayyid uttered after a while. "And quite stirring as well."

"What?"

"The way you take one step forward only to stumble and fall even more behind," he answered with a feint smile then shoved Damon into the wall and thrust the sword towards his throat stopping a few inches away.

Damon trembled with fear as a myriad of thoughts surged inside his mind. He knew Sayyid would not spare him, at least not after what he did.

"Please…" he said, trying to reason with Sayyid nevertheless.

"You resort to begging now? That hardly suits you, Damon. I would have expected something slightly different as final words…"

Damon replied with a grimace, a twisted spasm of anger fuelled by fear, contorting his face. He spared Sayyid only because of what the spirit had told him and now he was going to die despite everything. After all, the spirit could have very easily lied. Why would it be interested to save his life? Or what if it was the supposed demon all along, just toying with his mind? Such questions filled him with bitterness as he shouted silent curses at his fate for not being able to think it through a little sooner. He then recalled the silly words that he last heard from the spirit – possibly another trick or maybe...?

The cold blade pressed upon his throat and Damon could feel its sharp edge beginning to pierce through his skin.

"W-Wait… wait!" he shouted while straining to recall the exact same words the spirit had told him.

Sayyid gazed at him with fading interest.

"I do feel sorry for you, can't argue with that. Then again, no hard feelings…?" he said.

"Life cuts deeper than death…"

"What did you say?" Sayyid uttered, visibly taken aback by what he heard.

Damon repeated the phrase, surprised as well by the swordsman's almost ludicrous reaction and most of all by the very fact that the spirit's advice had actually worked.

"How do you know this?" Sayyid asked, lowering the blade.

"Well, it's quite the story – has to do with an unexpected ramble through the fade and a strange meeting with one of its dwellers," Damon answered, refraining himself from antagonizing the swordsman. "Dare I ask about the meaning that this phrase clearly possesses?"

"It was something that my daughter used to say."

Damon choked the sudden burst of laughter which came over him and instead smiled broadly.

"What happened to her?" he asked, searching for a way to take advantage of the swordsman's distraction.

"She was killed by the templars."

"Your daughter was a mage, then?"

"Yes," Sayyid answered after a short pause. "She was one of the mages at the Circle in Dairsmuid. One day she ran off and they had her hunted down. It's a terrible irony that the Circle was annulled just one year after."

"But you mentioned you were a templar. Allow me to say that I find that even more ironic considering the fact that you are currently serving a ruthless magister," Damon said, encouraged by the swordsman's mood for conversation.

"I am indebted to magister Kane and that is all I am going to say regarding the matter."

"Are you sure revenge does not play a greater part than you would like to admit?"

Sayyid grinned.

"It would appear you are getting the wrong impression about me. I was never the merciful templar who helped the ill fated mages to secretly escape or who defended them against the Chantry's iron rule. In fact, I was the one to deal the killing blow when a mage did not pass his harrowing and became possessed. I have also hunted down dozens of apostates. It was my duty at that time and therefore I did not question it."

"That sounds terribly Qunari…"

"The Qun has very interesting concepts to say the least. Take the way they deal with mages, for example. You would deserve to have your tongue cut even if you weren't a mage."

"Well, if you resent mages so much why are you following Kane's orders?"

"I have already told you – I am indebted to him. But enough of this! We should move on."

"Right… and I should not be expecting to be stabbed in the back."

"I do not deal in subterfuge. However, your suspicions are not without some grounds. Your supposed encounter with this spirit you mentioned… I do trust its intentions. And if there's a powerful demon involved that makes things even worse."

_My, but who could have guessed you are quite the superstitious sort? Guess I've managed to fool you this time, _thought Damon while nodding in acknowledgment towards Sayyid. "Then let us not waste another minute in here."

* * *

After less than an hour, they reached another vast cavern of a different nature as before. The air was heavier, bearing an almost unbearable stench. Piles of bones were scattered all around and right in the middle, glowing eerily, a few candles had been placed on the stone altar. The way ahead was blocked by tall iron gates.

A grim laughter resounded through the cavern as they approached the gateway. The horrid abomination stepped out from the darkness, revealing itself. Damon let out a gasp, recognising the same figure he had seen twice before. Only this time it wasn't just a mere vision. The twisted creature was all clad in black mail which screeched eerily every time the demon moved while the remnants of what once used to be a tabard hanged over its chest.

"I bid you welcome, mortals. It has been so long since anyone came visiting… dust and bones and etched whispers in the stones… empty, far too empty…"

"In a few moments, pieces of you will add to the decorations of this place."

"Woah, let's not be uncivilized," said Damon. "You must excuse my friend; he's got a dreary sense of humour."

The demon shifted his gaze from Sayyid to Damon, examining them both carefully. Its jutting chin quivered, unnaturally, while it continued to stare through dull and hollow eyes. They held a sinister glint, thing which could not be easily overlooked. Suddenly, the abomination started cackling, its strident voice echoing throughout the caves. Damon replied with a bemused grimace, disgusted by the demon's pointy teeth.

"Would you tell us what this place exactly is?"

Relapsing into a sullen silence, the demon fixed Damon with its eyes.

"Why, certainly, this be my home…"

"We're wasting our time here. It clearly does not wish to converse and is toying with us," said Sayyid.

"Did the dwarves build that city and the lyrium well?"

"Ah, the children of the stone and the mage lords… they came once but then they left… same goes with the elves… they sought a haven and that they found… until the haven's name was unbound…"

"Oh? And what was the name, pray tell?"

"Stop encouraging it!"

Damon motioned for the swordsman to be silent.

"She roams the lands, the seas, the realms below… pale as moonlight and cold as ice… a never-yielding hunger drives her fro… a kiss is but her only price… everyone yearns for such a sweet release…even a god may desire such peace…"

"Err… would that be death?"

"Death!" the abomination shrieked, making a sudden step forwards which startled both Damon and Sayyid. Its long and thin fingers, looking more as claws, began twitching abnormally.

"I have a very bad feeling about this…" said the swordsman while the demon began laughing once again.

"It's not that bad. We should bring him back to the keep and offer him to Kane as pet. Maybe he'll even forget about me."

"This is hardly the time for jesting!"

"Look, Sayyid," he said in a hushed tone. "This creature has to know something about those grey wardens and the thing they carried with them. If we don't make any further inquiries it means that we have come all this way for nothing. Is this what you want tot tell the magister? That you've chickened out at the very last minute?"

"I'm not saying this out of fear but of caution!" Sayyid rasped. "We should simply attack it instead of chatting-"

"Alright, I promise this is going to be the last question."

"Damon!"

"I see you've taken one of the grey wardens for… yourself," Damon said to the abomination which grinned in reply. "Not that I would want to offend you in any way – that's really not my intention. He… I mean, you are, no doubt, so much colourful. It's just that these grey wardens were carrying an item - a very important item I might add. Since they haven't got any further than here, I was wondering if you knew its whereabouts. Your help would be much appreciated."

"And now it all makes sense… yes… this one is so much interesting to read," answered the demon, in a low hissing voice.

"So you know about it?"

"Maybe… maybe not… Let us play a guessing game… if you win, the thing you seek is all but yours to claim…"

"Great… and what happens if I lose?"

"Such silly question! You lose the game and lose your soul."

"I… see. Well, I accept your challenge!"

"Indeed, accept his challenge. What can possibly go wrong?" said Sayyid, frowning and crossing his arms.

"It's the song the earth has always yearned for… and offers such a gentle cleansing… you might know it as in life's greatest lore… arrives in tears which are a blessing," the demon uttered, withdrawing itself a few steps until it vanished out of sight.

"A song… "Damon muttered, thinking about the answer to the riddle, and rose his glance towards the swordsman.

"Don't look at me; I cannot emphasize enough how irritating it is to listen to that thing talking in rhymes-"

"The answer… do you have it?" said the demon, its voice echoing throughout the vault.

"Just give me a minute! A song which offers cleansing… and arrives in tears…"

"Time's up I'm afraid."

"Wait… oh, but of course! It's the rain!"

"How very clever…" rasped the abomination, not at all pleased that the riddle was answered. "See if you can solve the next one – I follow in your steps wherever you may go… alas don't be afraid or take me for a foe…you cannot outrun or hide from me, that's right… a silent friend revealed only in the light."

Damon reflected for a few moments then gave the answer with confidence.

"One's shadow. That was fairly simple, to be honest."

"We shall see for how long the odds remain on your side," said the demon, its voice betraying a growing anger. "I am hardly earned and can be lost without a hitch… be careful where you place me… for it may lead to treason."

"Oh, I know this one… hardly earned but can also lead to treason… Darn, it's on the tip of my tongue!"

"You are having too much fun for your own good," Sayyid argued, while Damon paced up and down nervously.

"Trust! And by the way, you are hardly making this a challenge."

"One last question," said the demon with a vague hint of satisfaction glinting in its eyes. "Bounded, shackled, fettered… first by silence then by anger, yet the sweetest one was served the last… a void reflection cast astray, blind and deaf and with no past. Of what do I speak?"

Damon felt like he should know the answer yet nothing came to his mind. The abomination chuckled softly, retreating once again from sight, thing which called Sayyid to attention. He readied his weapon and looked around for the demon.

"What the blazes can that mean?" Damon muttered nervously. He repeated the riddle in his mind but it was to no avail. The answer would simply slip right through his fingers each time.

"Are you ready to yield?" asked the demon, sniggering.

"It doesn't make any sense! Bounded, shackled… void reflection… They have no meaning!"

"This means the game has ended… and you lost."

"No, wait! Seasons…? No, that can't be it!"

"Wrong and now you die!" the abomination shouted, lashing out at Damon and channelling a bluish green beam of light as he fell to the floor.

Bearing aloft his sword, Sayyid charged forwards and hit the demon in full swing. The horrid being staggered a few steps back letting out a piercing shriek, then began attacking the swordsman relentlessly. He parried all the strikes and was ready to fight back, when his sword suddenly began to heat up and change its colour towards red, burning his hands. Letting out a cry, he dropped it down, much to the demon's delight who grabbed Sayyid by his neck and started chocking him. However, instead of killing him, the demon let him go and remained stoned into place.

"Get back!" Damon shouted, hurling a fireball straight at the petrified abomination and shattering it to pieces. A viscous liquid, dark in colour, began oozing out from the place where the demon fell, and slowly covered most of the ground. Sayyid and Damon backed down, getting as far as possible from the substance which appeared to evaporate. A murky cloud steamed out from the ground, seething and swirling.

"This is far from over," said a terrible voice and the chamber filled up with dozens of shades, surrounding both Damon and the swordsman from all sides. Among them, there stood the abomination, looking even more ghastly than before.

"Fend them off for as long as you can," Damon said to Sayyid and began summoning a bolt of flames. The blazing sphere became dazzling in his hands and as soon as he cast it towards the bulk of the swarm, it spread out with unfolding rings of swirling fire, destroying most of the shades.

The swordsman fought off the remaining wraiths while Damon looked around for the abomination. Reduced to its knees, the hideous creature glared back at its soon to be executioner.

"So what was that last riddle referring to?" asked Damon, yet the abomination responded only with a devious grin. "Fair enough," he continued, drawing out a dagger and slashing the demon's throat.

Upon falling to the ground, the creature turned to ashes and a sudden tremor took over the cavern. Whatever affliction that must've controlled the place seemed to ebb away as the Veil became stronger.

"The path's clear now. Hurry!" said Sayyid, rushing towards the gate.

A few large stones fell from the ceiling, the earthquake becoming more and more violent.

"Stop fiddling about and let's get a move on. This whole place is going to collapse on us!"

"If there's any chance to find that item the demon mentioned then it must be here," Damon said, searching around frantically for a chest or other containers.

"I'm not going to wait for you any longer. You are either coming now or I'm leaving without you!"

Ignoring Sayyid's shouting, Damon staggered back to where the abomination fell and looked more carefully at its remnants – just a few scraps of metal and cloth among the pile of dust. The swordsman called up to him once more before disappearing down the passageway. Damon remained impervious to this and kept rummaging through the ashes until the tip of his fingers felt something. He grabbed the object and stashed it in his pocket then head out for the gates.

The rumbling noise ceased with a roaring crash, followed by a deep silence. Damon stopped running and gazed behind while catching his breath. The cavern along with part of the tunnel lay beneath dozens of heavy stones. Still shaking, he took out the odd trinket to examine it more closely. It was relatively small in size and had a triangular shape with brazen edges which were furrowed with intricate dents. In the middle, an oval emerald gemstone glowed faintly. Could it truly be the keystone which the excerpts indicated to? Damon pondered upon the idea for a few moments.

"At least it's better than nothing. The magister will have to content with it," said Damon while gazing at the strange relic.

He pressed on through the narrow tunnel which eventually led him to the Deep Roads. Though it was still pitch dark, he felt relieved to be in a wider area and hopefully a lot safer one.

"Ah, I thought I heard some footsteps…"

"Sayyid," Damon answered, feeling a bit disgruntled that he hadn't lost the swordsman. "I believe I've found the keystone," he said, showing the trinket.

"That is quite remarkable," Sayyid said, his smile fading away. "Magister Kane will be very pleased."

"Have no worries. I'll make sure to mention your part in finding the keystone as well – falling through the floor, distracting the demon from me. They always say it's the small things which count."

"Make jokes once we get out of here. If that trinket of yours didn't come with a map then it is less than useless right now."

"Just out of curiosity, what do you think the keystone opens?"

"Why does it matter? You had a task to complete and you didn't mess things up; at least not entirely."

"You aren't going to tell me, are you?" Damon said, giving out a loud sigh. "Better yet, that leaves me room to speculate. Let's see… a room full of gold and diamonds and all sorts of treasures – no, that would be such a cliché; a portal to another realm – too fancy, right? Perhaps a beacon of power, which will unleash the wrath of the gods or even hell itself – hmm, yes, that would be way too dramatic. Or maybe… it would simply free the Old Gods once and for all?"

The swordsman frowned upon hearing Damon's last words and stopped for a second.

"I guess I shouldn't be surprised that someone talked a little too much. Whichever the case might be, you would do well to keep that information to yourself."

_Could they actually have proof of the Old Gods' existence? And here I thought it was all just a silly charade, _Damon said to himself. "Of course; I do not wish to get on the magister's bad side again."

"Wisest thing I've heard from you in a long while."

The sound of their footsteps faded out in the distance, leaving behind the empty halls forever, while the place was drenched in silence once more. A sudden daft, carrying a most bizarre wheeze, was bore aloft through the passageway. The stillness was disturbed again, when a shadow crawled slowly along the ground before merging itself with the surrounding darkness.


End file.
